


Beauchamp, Plain and Tall

by thatsoccercoach



Series: Beauchamp, Plain and Tall [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Sarah Plain and Tall adaptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: When Da writes a letter asking for help at home, Claire comes. Will she become a part of their family? Will she stay?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was pondering one day what it would have been like if Claire was a mail order bride…but then I was looking at books for my class to read and thought that “Outlanderizing” the story Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan would be pretty great too. So, here it is. Obviously I didn’t come up with the story myself. You’ll find lots of book quotes and iconic moments. But I thought it would be a pretty fun thing to work on and even more fun to share. So, here’s Beauchamp, Plain and Tall!

                                                            

I could remember the night that Willie was born. He asked to be told the story at least every other week though he knew each part of the tale and could recite it if he chose, which he often did.

“I was handsome, wasn’t I? That’s what she said. ‘Isn’t the wee lad a handsome one then?’ she asked you,” he prodded as I told him the story yet again.

“Yes, Willie. That’s exactly what she said.” I sighed. It made me both happy and sad to retell the tale. I couldn’t help take joy in his enthusiasm just as I couldn’t help but feel regret over the way things had unfolded.

“I was handsome, right Bree?” He continued, insistent.

“You had tiny wisps of red hair and round, chubby cheeks,” I told him.

But I hadn’t thought he was handsome at all. I thought his head looked like a lumpy potato with eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but Mam had been so pleased with him that I hadn’t argued the point. “Isn’t he handsome, Bree?” Those had been her last words to me and I’d been so distracted by my awful thoughts that I hadn’t said goodnight.

That was the worst thing about the night when Willie was born. Mam was dead the next morning.

“Did Da smile then? When Mam was here?” Willie scooted closer to me and I draped my arm across his shoulder comfortingly.

“Yes.”

“And he laughed and sang too?”

“They both did, Willie. Every day. All the time,” I replied. I couldn’t remember those times well. Some things I couldn’t remember at all. My heart twinged a bit at the knowledge, the reluctant admission.

“Da doesn’t do much of that now, Bree,” he challenged.

“No, he doesn’t. Not anymore,” I agreed. I could see vague images in my mind still. Mam in her best dress, Da twirling her around in the dust in front of our house. Laughter pealing.

“Can you remember though, Bree? Can you remember how to smile like Mam, or laugh or sing her songs? Because maybe you can sing her for me so I can remember her too.” He sounded so hopeful that tears stung the backs of my eyes. I didn’t remember any of her songs. I just knew that it was true  _that_ she sang. She and Da both did.

Da came in just then from feeding the cows and Donas. Willie had set the table for us and I had a stew ready so we could eat together. Da had made bread earlier as he always did, thick and yeasty.

“Da? Do you remember the songs?” Willie asked abruptly and I turned aside so I wouldn’t need to see the shadow in Da’s eyes.

Da thought I didn’t notice those things, but I did. I saw how he looked at me and Willie and caught a glimpse of Mam instead. I saw the sorrow paired with the joy in his eyes. I saw the shadows and the shine of tears. I did notice.

“I dinna remember them. No. But I ken a way I might once more.” He sounded hopeful and I turned around to look at him curiously.

“I’ve put an advertisement in the paper for someone to come here wi’ us to help.”

“Like a housekeeper? Like Mrs. Crook?” Willie clamped his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing and even Da managed a smile.

Mrs. Crook had been our housekeeper when Willie was a bairn. Though she’d been good at cooking and laundry and managing the house, she most certainly hadn’t been one who had brought songs into our lives. She’d been stern. Da said she was a “verra productive worker,” but she didn’t bring music.

“Nay, for a wife.” It was said simply and I glanced up at him, trying to see what he really meant.

“Like Jenny?” I asked him.

Our neighbor, Ian, had put an advertisement in the paper to find a mother for his bairns, Pearl and Ruby. Jenny had come all the way from Scotland where Mam and Da had come from long ago. She was tiny, and fierce, had raven colored hair and she loved Ian and his lasses as if they’d been hers to love forever. And she sang.

“Aye, like Jenny,” replied Da. “And I got a letter in return.”

He fished into his pocket and pulled out a tattered page that was stained on one corner. Gently, he handed me the page and I read aloud so Willie could hear as well.

To Mister James Fraser,

I am Claire Beauchamp, recently from Maine though English-born. I am writing in response to the advertisement you posted. I’ve not ever been married, though I have been asked. Until now I have lived with my uncle, his manservant, and our housekeeper.

I love my life here but feel that, at present, a change is necessary. I am a hard worker, willing and able-bodied. I am good at healing and at growing things. I can keep house. I’m afraid to admit that I am not the meek or mild-tempered type. If that does not cause you to burn my letter forthwith, I should like to know more about your children, your farm, and yourself.

    Very truly yours,

    Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp

P.S. I should like to know your opinion on cats as I have one.

When I finished reading I looked up at Da to see a light in his eyes. Willie was smiling hugely and was on his knees in his chair.

I smiled too.

“There is one thing,” I whispered. “You must ask her if she sings.”

We all wrote letters to Claire. I wrote mine on my own. There are some things that must be written and asked honestly, woman to woman, without anyone else reading or writing for you. Willie’s letter was done with my help on several spellings. He sent her also a print of Bran’s paw to show her how large he was.

Da wrote by candlelight after he thought we were asleep. I knew what he was doing.

Claire wrote back before the month drew to a close and we read the letters over and over again. Willie asked for them nearly as much as he asked for his own story.

Dear Brianna,

I do know things other than healing, though they’re not my strongest suits. I can cook and keep house though I would rather be in a garden gathering herbs. And I can braid hair, though my own curls are rather reluctant to be restrained in that manner.

My favorite colors are those found near my home and the sea. Rich blues, greys and greens are the ones I love. I shall send you a book of all the sea life that can be found here so you can see what I see every day.

    Very truly yours,

        Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp

“ _She_ has a sea!” exclaimed Willie. “And we haven’t. What if she comes and she misses her sea too much. What if she comes thinks our hair is too red and she likes blue? What if she doesn’t like us?” His concern was plain on his face, his eyes dim and his mouth drawn into a frown.

“Our hair  _is_ red,” I scoffed, but then sighed and pulled him into a hug anyway. “It will be fine, Willie. It will.”

It was true our hair was red and that we had no blues, greys, and greens. It was true that we had a house to keep and only a small garden. It was true that we had no sea.

Dear Willie,

My cat is named Adso after the Austrian nun from Melk. She generally likes other animals, dogs included, so your Bran and Elphin should not pose a problem. She does prefer to be the largest animal, but will settle on being the largest cat. She has enclosed a paw print for you as a comparison.

Though your house is in the country, I think I shall like it still. My house is tall and white, built quite near the shore. We have stone steps leading down to the beach where we go daily. The paint on the house is fading due to the salt from the sea that eats away at it.

Yes, I do like small rooms sometimes as they can be cozy. Yes, I can laugh and smile. I do not know if I snore. Adso has never told me.

Very truly yours,

           Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp

“Did you really ask her about snoring?” I asked him, incredulously.

“I wished to know,” he replied, simply.

The next day, as we worked in the field under a cloudy sky, Da spoke up. His hands never stilled. He was always working, always distracting himself. I missed the times when he was still and would just  _be_.

“If we wish her to, Claire has said she will come and visit for a month. To ken if she likes it here. If we wish.”

Both Willie and I said “Yes!” in unison and Da smiled.

“Then I willna postpone writing but will do it tonight,” He said simply, and we went back to our work.

Da mailed his letter. We worked on the farm. Once, I woke up with a nightmare and in a panicked stupor went to look for Mam before realizing I’d never find her. And then the letter came.

Dear Jamie,

I will come by train. I will wear a yellow bonnet. I am plain and tall.

            Claire

In smaller writing at the bottom of the letter there was more. Willie noticed it almost immediately.

“Da didna read that part. Read it to me, Bree?” he half begged, half demanded.

_Tell them I sing_ was all it said.


	2. Chapter 2

                                                            

Claire came in the spring. I wore my church dress and Willie his good shirt. Da shaved, combed his hair, and put on his Sunday best as well before leaving us to get Claire. His new wife. Maybe. Maybe our new mother.

Before she came Willie and I did our chores in silence. We mucked stalls and put out new hay. We checked on the sheep. We fetched water and brought wood in from the big pile along the side of the house. And when our chores were finished Willie began to pester me with questions.

“Will Claire be kind, like Jenny is?” he asked me.

“Of course she will be kind. She’s choosing to come here to get to know us,” I answered.  _But would the choice to come be enough to make the choice to stay_  I wondered.

“Can she bring her sea with her so she won’t miss it?” He continued.

“You can’t bring the sea, Willie,” I told him. “We have our own things here though.” We had our land and the mounds of grass that spread across them in endless waves. We had our animals, our neighbors, and our house. But would Claire stay?

I thought she wouldn’t. And the thought made me want her not to come at all.

We waited then, Willie pacing the length of the front porch again and again, his bare feet padding the long narrow boards that formed the space. Da was forever reminding him to put on his boots so he wouldn’t get splinters in his feet from the boards. I sat in the rocking chair winding a ball of yarn and then another.

Da brought her back from the train station through fields blooming with new life. Grass waved high about the wheels of the wagon. Donas had been contrary, as was his usual mood, when Da had hitched him up that morning. He tossed his head and it seemed as if his mood hadn’t much improved.

Bran and Elphin barked and raced out to meet them in the distance while Willie and I waited nearer the house.

Da drew the wagon to a halt then went around to offer a hand to Claire. When she finally stood I could tell that she was plain and tall just as she’d said.

“Hush,” Da told Bran as he continued to bark.

“Did you bring the sea?” yelped Willie, though I had already told him she couldn’t have.

“Something from the sea, and me,” answered Claire. “And Adso too.”

She had. Adso was in a case in the back of the wagon. She fetched it out and opened it up and Adso emerged, regal as a queen. Elphin watched cautiously while Bran barked once, sniffed her, and laid down.

“The cat will be a good mouser for the barn,” said Da.

“She will be good in the house,” replied Claire with a smile and raised eyebrows.

And that was that.

Claire had brought treasures with her. She and Willie sat and looked through them that first evening. A scallop. A razor clam. A sea urchin.

She gave Willie a shell and explained how the sea birds would soar high above the shore and drop it, breaking open the shell and exposing the birds’ next meal.

“That’s very smart,” exclaimed Willie.

Claire turned to me and held out a stone, polished by the waves. She extended it more hesitantly that she had the shell to my brother, as if she knew that she was extending  _more_.

“The ocean waves pound away, tumbling stones until they are worn, until they’re smooth and beautiful,” she said.

“That is very smart too,” interjected Willie once more.

I held the gift close.

She had a shell that she pressed to Willie’s ear. A conch, she said. A friend back  _home_ had given it to her and if you listened you could hear the waves of the ocean.

“I can hear it,” he said in a loud whisper. “I can hear your sea, Claire.”

I saw it, the look on her face. She smiled but it was a sad smile too, the way Da sometimes looked when Willie or I mentioned Mam. Barely any time at all on the prairie and already she missed her home.

Claire was already lonely.

I wished we had a sea of our own.

* * *

The next day Claire cut Willie’s hair. His red curls were always unruly and they’d gotten long. She sat him on a chair on the porch and he held still for her in a way that he never did for Da or myself.

“Look, Bree,” he called out to me though I was standing right there. “Claire is trimming my hair.”

She scattered his curls in front of the house when they were done.

“Why, Claire?” Willie asked her.

“The birds can use it. When they begin to gather materials for their nests they’ll gather your hair and use it as well. We’ll look for your hair in the nests later on,” she explained.

“She said ‘later,’” whispered Willie to me. “That means she’ll stay.”

Claire cut Da’s hair too. Instead of sitting on the chair on the porch she cut it out behind the house and just as she’d done earlier, Da tossed his own curls into the light breeze.

Then it was my turn.

“Come, Bree,” she held out a hand to me and I hesitantly took it.

She brushed my hair slowly and gently, taking time to remove the tangles before braiding it and tying it off with a satin ribbon she had brought with her from Maine. Then she brushed and plaited her own.

We stood side by side in front of the mirror, Claire and I. Each of us standing straight and tall, her plain brown curls and my red ones braided and pulled back. I almost looked like I could have been her daughter.

She clutched our hands, mine and Willie’s and told Da that she wanted to meet the sheep. She named them. Ermenegilda, Arabella, and Mamacita after the aunts. The aunts, who were not her real aunts at all, but lived next door to Claire and her uncle. They were the aunts she loved.

Claire had never before touched a sheep.

“Never, Claire?” asked Willie, aghast.

“Never,” she confirmed. “Though I have touched seals. They’re slippery and they slide through the water like fish do. Sometimes they bark like dogs.” At that she made a barking noise and Bran and Elphin perked up their ears from across the barnyard and came running.

Willie said he wished to touch a seal.

“So do I,” said Claire with a sigh.


	3. Chapter 3

                                                            

It was the dogs who loved Claire first, I think.

Her room was small and the bed was covered in a faded quilt. A quilt that Mam had made. I put cut flowers in a vase on the small bedside table. Claire didn’t snore. Bran slept next to her.

In the morning her window panes would be fogged with moisture that condensed and slid down to the sill. It was there her shells sat, lined up in a row, beautiful and foreign.

“Where are you going?” asked Willie one morning as Claire left the house, bonnet in hand.

“Flower-picking. I’ll find some color. Find some fresh, sweet smelling flowers and I’ll hang them from the rafters to dry. Once they’re dry we’ll have flowers all winter long,” she told him.

Winter. I heard it too. Claire had said “Winter” but I didn’t dare to hope.

And we picked the flowers together. The wild roses that Mam had tended close to the house would bloom in early summer. I told Claire as much and watched her face when I said it.  _Summer_. That could be when Da and Claire’s wedding would be.

“We haven’t got many of these flowers in Maine,” Claire told us as she gathered bundles of them and hung them. She named off the flowers from her garden and Willie danced around the room making up silly rhymes about them.

Claire and Da laughed. Elphin and Bran wagged their tails until they thumped against the floor.

After supper it was time to sing. Claire’s voice was clear and strong. Da sang as if he’d never stopped.

* * *

Often over those first days we tended the sheep with Claire. She loved them, calling them by the names she’d given them. She would talk with them and let Coco and the other new lambs suck on her fingers. Claire would even lay down in the fields next to them and sing.

There was a lamb that died and Claire cried. She stayed with it in the field until Da came and brought her back to the house after burying the wee thing. Her pale, freckled cheeks were streaked with tears while she prepared our meal and sat through it in silence.

After we ate, Claire drew pictures to send home to Maine. Willie watched over her shoulder and I watched from a distance, hesitant. She drew our fields and the rolling hills. The animals in the barn were her subjects as well. She even drew the windmill.

“Windmill was my first word,” declared Willie. “Da said so.

“Flower was mine,” I whispered.

“What was yours, Claire?” asked my brother.

“Dune.”

“Dune?” Willie’s face scrunched up when he asked her about it.

“In Maine there are hills of sand. Though we have tall cliffs of stone and tree-lined hills, Uncle Lamb and I found a dune of sparkling white sand. He let me slide down the side and into the water,” she explained, remembering.

“We don’t have dunes,” said Willie sadly.

“Aye, we do,” said Da as he stood and reached out a hand for Claire. He pulled her along and we followed, Willie and I and the dogs.

Beside our barn was the mound of hay that Da used for the animals’ bedding. It was nearly as tall as the barn itself and Da took his ladder from the barn and leaned it in the hay, looking at Claire as he did so.

“There,” he smiled at her. “Our dune.”

She looked at it and I watched her eyes, her face, looking for signs. Willie grabbed her hand.

“Are you scared of how high our dune is, Claire?” he asked.

“Scared? Oh I’m not scared!” she put her hands on her hips.

She climbed the ladder to the top of the hay pile and looked down at all of us. The sky was beginning to darked and pinpoints of light were starting to twinkle. She was silhouetted against the falling night. As she stood, Da made a smaller pile of loose hay at the bottom then raised his eyes to Claire’s. His eyes shined when he smiled.

Then she slid down the dune, laughing and causing the dogs to run to her, barking madly. We slid down our down until bits of hay prickled inside our clothes and our eyes watered and we sneezed. Then Willie asked her if the dune was a good one.

“It is a good dune,” affirmed Claire as she helped wash us in the big tub that Da had brought in and set before our hearth, filling it with warm water.

Claire poured water over my head making my red curls stick to my scalp and drip.

Then, Claire drew pictures to send to Uncle Lamb. She drew Da, bits of hay swirling around him. She drew Willie playing in the barnyard with the dogs. And she drew me, head above the edge of the tub, sopping wet. And she drew the fields. She looked at her drawings for so long I thought my hair might dry by the time she was done.

“Something is missing from them,” she told Willie as she put them away, resignedly.

Then Claire read her letter to Uncle Lamb aloud. She said sliding down our dune was nearly as fine as sliding down the dunes into the sea.  _Our dune_.

* * *

Gradually summer drew nearer. The sunlight lasted later into our evenings with Claire. It got warmer too.

Da taught Claire how to plow the fields behind Thistle and Losgann. She wore the plainest of her dresses, still clearly from the city, covered with an apron and she would tuck the long reins over her shoulders as she walked the length of the field and back again.

Later on, she would sit with us after chores were done and we’d watch as Da took over.

“Tell me about winter,” she said, not really looking at us but still watching Da who was forcing Thistle to keep working though she clearly wanted nothing more than to be done.

“Winter is cold,” explained Willie and we all laughed together at that.

“Winter is cold everywhere!” I replied.

“Did you know that winter happens during different months in other parts of the world?” Claire asked. “My Uncle Lamb took me to Australia once and their winter was during our summertime.”

“It can’t have been,” Willie looked askance.

“But it was,” Claire replied simply. “Now, winter,” she probed.

“We go to school in winter and learn sums and composition and read books,” I told her.

“I love those things,” she said. “All of them, but especially books. How do you get there?”

“We walk or Da drives us in the wagon. If there is not much snow, it isn’t too far to walk,” Willie told her.

“Do you have much snow then?” Claire’s attention swung to us then.

“Lots and lots and lots of snow!” Willie giggled, rolling about in the grass as if it was the white powder. Then he sat up. “If there’s a big storm, Da ties a rope from the house to the barn so that he willna get lost going from one to the other.”

I loved winter. Maybe Claire wouldn’t.

“In the mornings the windows are all frosted over and we can draw sparkling pictures on the window panes and we can see our breath in the air. Da always builds us a warm fire and we bake and we wear all our sweaters. And we stay home from school and play in the snow.”

Claire lay back in the prairie grass.

“Is there wind?” she asked.

“Well, do you like wind?” asked Willie in return.

“There is wind by the sea.”

“Good. There is wind here,” he replied. “It blows things around and it makes our sheep run.” At that he jumped up and began to run around causing the sheep to mill about.

“Hello Arabella and Coco,” Claire smiled as they came near then fled according to Willie’s wildness.

But it wasn’t winter yet and as the sun rose, so did the temperature.

“I don’t think I can wait for winter,” Claire said. “Let’s swim.”

“Swim where?” I asked her. “We don’t know how to swim!”

“Swim in the cow pond,” Claire said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I began to protest but she brooked no argument, grabbing both my hand and Willie’s and tugging us along. She let out a holler at the cows, telling them to move along then she took off her apron and dress and stood only in her shift and stiff, white petticoats.

When she dove in and disappeared below the water Willie and I stared at the spot for what seemed like forever before she emerged, dripping with water and laughing.

Though I sank like a rock, Willie learned to float and began to swim a bit.

“Is this like your sea?” he asked.

“The sea is salt and it is bigger than you can imagine. It goes on farther than the human eye can see,” Claire explained. “When the sun shines, it reflects off the water and it shines like glass. There are waves on the sea.”

“Waves like this?” He splashed Claire and she sputtered.

“Something like,” she laughed.

I finally leaned back and floated. We climbed out and lay on the grass to dry and I fell asleep in the warm sun. I dreamed that we had our own sea where our fields lay.

I dreamed that Claire was happy.


	4. Chapter 4

                                                            

The prairie grass grew taller and the buds on the trees began to bloom as well. The garden that Claire had been tending was thriving with new life. Everything was green and fresh.

Our neighbors, Ian and Jenny came to help with the plowing of our big fields. Da could do small areas on his own, ground that was already nearly prepared. For bigger crops in the rough ground, he needed more.

They came in their wagon with their horses. Willie and I stood on our porch and waited for them to arrive. We’d stood on the porch like that had been when Claire had come. We’d been so excited. So nervous.

The children, Pearl and Ruby sat in the bed of the wagon. They were smaller than Willie and I and people always said they looked a little bit like Ian, though I really didn’t think that was true. I had noticed that grown ups seemed to say things like that, about how lovely babies looked or which parent a child looked like.

Claire wore her hair up, though some curls were already loose. She had flowers tucked into her hair as well. Flowers that Da had picked for her.

Our horses whickered from behind the fence as the Murrays drew close and then stopped. Ian held out his arms for Jenny as she jumped down then he helped the little girls out.

“Da needs more horses for the big plow,” Willie explained to Claire as she walked out to meet our neighbors. He grabbed her hand and walked with her. “Some things are easier with friends.”

Jenny brought Claire three chickens that she set loose in our barnyard. They scrambled about like little piles of fluff, making Claire laugh.

“I thought ye could use some fer eating,” Jenny said, with a smile and a hand outreached in introduction.

I thought they would not be for eating.

Da and Ian went to the field after hitching the horses. Ian wouldn’t walk as far as Da due to an old injury, but he would help along the way. Willie and the girls frolicked around the barnyard, playing first with the silly chickens and then with Bran and Elphin. Jenny and Claire settled on the porch with work to busy their hands.

“Are ye feeling at home then, Claire?” Jenny asked.

“I’m learning the ways of living here,” she replied. She hadn’t said “yes” though.

“I still am. Often,” Jenny revealed. “I miss the hills. We call them  _munros_ , ye ken? I miss the home where I lived when I was a bairn.”

Bran wandered over and set his head in my lap where I sat on the edge of our porch.

“I miss the dunes and the sea. I miss my uncle and the aunts,” Claire whispered softly.

_Do not miss the munroes_ , I thought.  _Do not miss the sea_.

“I miss my loved ones too. There are always things to miss no matter where ye are.”

I looked at the barnyard with my brother playing and our dogs barking.  _I’d miss Willie. I’d miss you too, Bran._

“You must have yer own garden, Claire. To make this land yer own.”

Willie and the little girls drew nearer, settling to play more calmly in the dust at the edge of the porch where we ladies sat.

“Ye can come out to our farm and get some herbs and flowers for yerself,” Jenny continued. “Any time that Jamie doesna need ye here, just come and get them.”

“I can’t drive a wagon,” Claire replied.

“Ye must learn then!” Jenny told her. “Everybody kens tha’.”

“Do you know then?” Claire shot the question in my direction and I nodded.

“I can drive the wagon. Even Willie can,” I said.

“Dinna fash. I’ll teach you, Claire,” Da’s voice floated to us.

He and Ian had come back to cool off and have a long drink of water, but he’d caught up with the conversation without a problem. And he was going to teach Claire to drive. To drive away from us.

“We’re glad yer here, Claire,” Ian said with a smile. “‘Tis good for Jenny to have the company, to have a friend.”

As the afternoon wore on Ruby and Pearl fell asleep in the shade and Ian put them on blankets in the back of the wagon. He and Jenny got ready to go home. As they drove away, Claire followed in their tracks for a long time until Willie and I ran after and pulled her back, one of us holding tight to each hand.

She named the chickens then. I knew all along they wouldn’t be for eating.

That evening Da came to us just before the rain, bringing Claire the first roses of the summer.

* * *

The rain came then, soaking everything. The animals dripped with the moisture and steamed. The branches of the trees drooped low with the weight.

That next morning Claire dressed in a pair of overalls and went to the barn to have an argument with Da.

“But ladies don’t wear pants!” Willie cried, racing after her.

“Well, I’m an unusual lady,” Claire told him, eyebrows raised.

She told Da that she was ready to learn to ride Donas.

“Nay. Ye’ll ride Losgann,” he said.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Claire argued.

“I ken that ye are a strong woman, Claire,” Da said. “But ye’ll learn on Losgann or no’ at all. And today I must fix the roof before the rain worsens.”

“ _We’ll_ fix the roof,” Claire corrected, still in the mood to argue.

At first I thought Da would tell her to stay on the ground and mind me and Willie, but he looked her over and slowly nodded.

“Ye said yer good wi’ a hammer and nails?”

“I am.”

And with that she and Da were on the roof, whipping shingles into place and fixing them there with the nails. The wind began to rise and there was the roll of thunder in the distance, moving closer. A huge black cloud moved toward us and suddenly, the hiss of rain falling harder could be heard as it flattened the grass in a wave coming our way.

Da shouted something to Claire that I couldn’t hear and he scrambled down the ladder then held his arms out to her. She slid down the roofline to the top rung of the ladder then jumped into his arms. His hands went from her waist to her own hand which he grabbed and pulled, running toward Willie and myself.

“Bree, Willie, get the sheep!”

Da flung the barn door open wide and the horses pranced at the fence, waiting to be let out so they could go to the shelter of the barn.

The sky glowed a strange greenish color and I felt the sharp sting of hailstones on my shoulders and scalp.

We all gathered in the barn when Claire gasped suddenly and ran out yet again. Her chickens were still out there. Do followed her into the storm to bring her back.

They were soaked to the skin, dripping wet by the time they came back to us again. The chickens didn’t even seem to mind. As Claire set them down, they fluffed up their feathers and scuttled to and fro in the barn on the straw.

“What color is the sea when it storms, Claire?” asked my brother.

“Blue and grey and green,” she replied. Da pulled her close then. She fit right under his chin like she was a puzzle piece created to be there. It reminded me of Mam and Da in some ways. I closed my eyes and tried to remember. When I opened my eyes once more it was Claire and Da, standing there.

“We have squalls in Maine too, just like this. It will be alright, Jamie,” she whispered to my da.

That night we all slept in the barn on the hay. When we awoke the sun sparkled on the fallen hay as if it was reflecting off a sheet of glass; as if it was shining on the surface of the sea.


	5. Chapter 5

                                                              

The storm passed. The fields were damaged. The roof held.

“Told you I was handy,” Claire said. Da’s only response was to smile back at her.

Claire learned then to ride.

Da didn’t argue with her at all. Claire  _didn’t_ ride Donas. They went out into the far field and practiced together, Da on Donas and Claire on mild-mannered Losgann. She learned quickly and soon he was showing her how to hitch the horses to the wagon and drive it. How to drive the wagon into town.

“Maybe she’ll fall off Losgann,” Willie said hopefully.

“She won’t,” I said, sullenly.

“Or maybe she’ll get sick and she’ll need to stay here!” he attempted again.

“Mmm,” was my only reply.

“ _I_  could pretend to be sick so that she’d stay. She’d stay to take care of me, wouldn’t she, Bree?”

And then Willie began to cry and I took him inside the barn where we could both cry.

Da left Claire to practice on her own and came and told Willie to chop some wood. He didn’t see Willie’s tears. Or mine. I stood watching Claire manage the wagon.  _She learned quickly_ I thought again. I went back into the barn to be alone. To be alone with Claire’s chickens.

“Why?” I asked them. They stared at me with small, glassy eyes and no answers.

The next morning Claire rose early and put on her blue dress. She went to the barn and gave some hay to Donas and Losgann. She put on her yellow bonnet. The bonnet she had worn when she came to us.

“Remember to use a strong hand with the horses,” was what Da told her.

“I’ll remember, Jamie,” she replied.

“It’s best to be home before dark,” he spoke again. “Driving a wagon by moonlight can be difficult.”

“Yes, Jamie,” she said.

Then she kissed us all, even Da, who looked surprised.

She looked to Willie and me and told us to watch out for Adso and take care of her. Then she climbed into the wagon and drove away. Willie and I watched her go from the porch where we stood when Claire had come to us.

I remembered a time long ago when a wagon had taken Mam away. It had been a day just like this. And Mam had never come back.

I swept the porch as I did every day. As if it was a normal day. Adso jumped down off the railing scattering some flowers Claire had set aside to dry later and I cleaned those up as well. I watered the flowers growing in the garden. Willie cleaned out our wood stove as I worked on the porch.

He appeared by me suddenly. “Our hair is too red and Claire likes blue and green and grey,” he said mournfully. “And now she has gone to buy a ticket for the train so she can go away!”

“No, Willie. She’d tell us if she was going to do that.”

“And our house and her room are too small,” he said.

“They are not too small,” I argued.

“We have no sea,” he sighed.

We took lunch to Da in the field. Bread and cheese and fresh water in a jar. Willie poked my shoulder and whispered in the loud way he did that wasn’t really a whisper.

“Ask him.”

“What has Claire gone to do, Da?”

“I dinna ken,” he said, squinting against the sun as he looked over the field. He sighed as he turned back to me and Willie then he set one strong hand on my shoulder and one on my brother’s. “Claire is Claire. She does things her own way. Ye ken?”

“Yes,” said Willie sadly.

Da picked up his hat and set it back on his head, going back out to work.

Willie poked me again. “Ask Da if she’s coming back.”

“Of course she’s coming back,” I retorted. “She left Adso.” But I couldn’t ask Da that question. I couldn’t bear to.

We fed the sheep. We made a stew for dinner. Willie and I set the table. Four places. The sun dropped lower in the sky and I thought to myself that night would soon be here. Willie went to sit on the porch to watch. In his hand he held one of Claire’s shells that he turned over and over in his palm. Adso sat with him.

Then Bran and Elphin began to bark and they ran down the packed dirt drive that led to our place.

“Dust!” yelled Willie. “Dust and a yellow bonnet!”

Then Claire came in the wagon, pulling into the barnyard. Telling the dogs to  _hush_. She reached her arms out and Da put his hands on her waist as she jumped from the wagon seat. And Willie began to cry.

“Adso was very worried!”

But Claire pulled him to her as if he was just a baby, wrapping her arms around him and swaying gently to and fro.

“We thought our hair was too red,” he wailed into the front of her dress. “And that our house was too small,” he continued.

Claire looked at me and Da.

“We thought,” I continued for Willie. “That you might be leaving us. Because you miss the sea.”

Claire smiled then.

“I’ll always miss my old home, I think. But the truth of it is, I’d miss you more.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Da took the reins and led the horses toward the barn. He unhitched them and watered them before sending them out to the field where he tossed a flake of hay.

Claire gave me a package then.

“For you Bree, and Willie. For all of us,” she said. Her voice sounded like music when she said it.

The parcel was small. A brown, paper-wrapped thing, tied with a piece of twine. I unwound it and looked inside as Willie peeked over my shoulder. Inside were three colored pencils.

“Blue,” breathed Willie. “And grey and green.”

Claire nodded at him and her curls bounced.

Willie smiled and let out a yell.

“Da! Come quick! Claire has brought us the sea!”

 

 


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading along and leaving me notes as you read! I truly loved writing this last fic and am glad I got to share it with you all.

                                                            

Tonight night we ate our meal by candlelight. All four of us. Claire brought us candles from town. While she was there she also bought seeds for her garden and a book of songs so we can all sing together. Willie is so happy that he’s worn himself out and nearly falls asleep on his plate and Claire and my Da are smiling at one another in a silly way that makes me happy too.

_Soon there will be a wedding,_  I think. And though Claire is an unusual woman who is not meek and who does things her own way, Da says that he will answer “aye” when the preacher asks him if he will take Claire as his wife.

And then autumn will come. The leaves will change and will crunch underfoot. The harvest will be brought in. The wind will blow like it does in Maine. The animals will begin to make homes for the winter and we can look for red curls in the nests.

Then there will be winter. We’ll have the flowers that we dried. Da will stretch the rope from the house to the barn so he can find his way in the deep snow if there is a storm. We won’t get lost if we go to feed the sheep or the horses. Or Claire’s chickens.

There will be Claire’s drawings hanging on the wall with grey and green and blue. Claire’s sea. And songs old and new. And Adso. And there will be Claire, plain and tall.


End file.
